Until the Day I Die
by brittanaislove
Summary: "And as she stared at her phone through the tears forming in her eyes, she couldn't help but think that pushing that red "end" button on the keypad meant so much more than ending a phone call tonight." Angsty fic is angsty. Warning: Character death.


**I had a dream a few nights ago that went something like what happens in this story. It had been eating away at me, and I needed to get it out.. so what better way than with an angsty Brittana (with a side of Quinn) fic? So I present to you this one-shot.. a quick little break from writing my multi-chapter story (which you should def check out too if you're in the mood for some angst lol).**

**This is probably not M, but I am never sure exactly where the line is and I'm kind of paranoid, soo.. I'm making it M, lol. Thank you for reading and reviews make me happy :)**

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><p>It had been some time since the sky glowed the way it did that night, blue and purple with streaks of orange splashed across it so perfectly that it almost seemed someone had done it intentionally. The February sky in Lima was as dull as the town itself, even during sunset. So when these rare dusks did come along, most people stopped to watch it, forgetting for a few minutes whatever they were doing to take in its beauty as if it were the small bit of reassurance they needed to believe that there was some kind of hope for their run-down, insignificant little blip on the map.<p>

These were the nights Brittany loved the most. No matter what they were doing, she would drag Santana outside to watch it with her, wrapping her arms around the smaller girl, lacing their fingers together. Santana would roll her eyes and whine, but secretly she loved the way the colors of the sky lit up Brittany's eyes and the remaining rays of dying sunlight made her skin glow. Brittany's smile radiated innocence and true, untainted love. The sight made Santana weak at the knees every time, and she found herself thankful for Brittany's strong stature wrapped around her, supporting her in ways she wasn't even aware.

Tonight should have been no different.

"I caught you," Brittany breathed into the receiver, her voice shaking. It was everything she could do to keep it together long enough to leave the voicemail on Santana's phone. "I came there and I caught you. I'm done, Santana. It's over."

And as she stared at her phone through the tears forming in her eyes, she couldn't help but think that pushing that red "end" button on the keypad meant so much more than ending a phone call tonight.

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><p>It wasn't even an hour before Santana was there, pounding on the door of the home that Brittany had shared with Quinn for the last year. Brittany had wanted to get a place with Santana, but Santana shot down the idea, suggesting she room with Quinn instead. "It'll be better this way, B," Santana had told her. "I need to stay at home, live with my parents a little while longer so that I can save all the money I make at work. It'll just be a few months, I promise. I'll save everything and then you and me, we're out of here. Wherever you want to go, B. New York, LA, Chicago, whatever you want. I promise." It had made sense back then, and Brittany believed her. Even after a few months had passed, three, six, ten, a year. But when Brittany asked Santana about it, Santana was always short with her. "I'm trying, Britt. Just give me a little bit longer, okay? Stop asking me the same questions all the time." She didn't like to see Santana upset, and she hated even more so being the one to upset her, so eventually she dropped it, figuring Santana would tell her when she was ready to go.<p>

"Brittany, open this fucking door right now, or I swear to god I will kick it down!" Santana's heart was racing and she couldn't tell if she was more angry or scared. _What the fuck was she doing at my house without telling me she was coming? _But as the seconds dragged by like hours and Brittany didn't answer the door, her anger dissipated and was replaced with fear and the realization that _she _was the one who was _wrong._ "Brittany!" She screamed, her voice catching in her throat on the second syllable, making it come out as more of a croak than anything else. "Please," she added quietly, her demand turning into a beg as she leaned against the aluminum door, pressing her forehead to the cold metal.

Suddenly the door swung open and Santana almost fell forward. She reached up and caught herself on the door frame, pulled herself back to an upright position, and was met with Brittany's expressionless face. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The eeriness of it made Santana's skin crawl.

"Britt?" The words barely came out as a whisper. Brittany's eyes were red and swollen, the blue of her irises clearer than Santana could remember them being.

"I have nothing to say to you," Brittany replied coldly. "You obviously have a million things to tell me, but honestly Santana, I don't even want to hear any of it. It's only gonna make this hurt worse, I'd rather just not know."

Brittany started to turn, reaching to slam the door shut, but Santana threw her hands up to stop it. "No, Brittany, wait, please! Don't do this, please don't do this."

Brittany swung the door back open, the pain in her eyes suddenly replaced with rage. "Me? You're telling me don't do this? You did this, Santana! I was there, I came to your house, I saw his car outside, I heard you in your bedroom! There is nothing you can possibly say to make this okay. It's not okay, it won't be okay."

"You don't understand!" Santana practically screamed at her. "You don't understand why I have to do these thin-"

"No!" Brittany cut her off, her volume equal with Santana's. "I don't understand, you're right. Who do you need to sleep with guys to impress? Sue? The Cheerios? This isn't high school anymore! You trying to convince your parents you're straight still? By fucking Puck when they aren't home? Yeah, that makes a whole hell of a lot of sense, Santana. I know they make you miserable, but the solution to that was easy. You leave. I've wanted to leave since we graduated high school. I've been ready and waiting, what have you been doing? Oh, wait," Brittany scoffed, disgusted, and crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes burning holes through Santana. "I guess now I know."

"Britt, I don't.. I'm sorry, please, I was confused. I love you.." Santana pleaded, tears spilling over the brim of her eyes.

"You were confused? How can I believe anything you say anymore, San?" Brittany was no longer yelling. Her voice was back close to normal, almost calm. "How can I believe you when everything you've told me all this time was a lie? You promised me that after high school, this shit with Puck would stop. When I wanted to move out of my parent's house, you promised me you'd save up for us to move away together. You promised me a few months at the most. We graduated a year and a half ago, Santana, and I've been living with Quinn for over a year. You promised that.. that there would be no one but me. Every promise you've ever made me was a lie." Brittany began to tremble, the reality of the situation sinking in even more with each word out of her own mouth.

"No, Britt, I didn't mean to hurt you, I never wanted to hurt you. I'm sorry," Santana's hands shook as bad as her voice as she reached to touch Brittany's arm, "I love you, I don't-"

But Brittany pushed her away, taking a step backwards into her house. "I don't believe you." She swallowed hard, the lump rising in her throat making it nearly impossible to speak. "Please," the words came out in a hoarse whisper, "don't come back. We're done."

And with that, she shut the door.

Santana just stood there on the doorstep, defeated. She wanted to pound on the door, scream for Brittany to come back and let her try to explain herself. She wanted to bust down the door and make Brittany listen to her while she told her that she was wrong about her, that she hadn't done anything wrong, that it wasn't cheating when it was out of confusion and.. and..

But that was just it, she realized. What was it? Brittany was right. This wasn't high school anymore. There were no excuses. There were no more "reasons". She had no idea why she was doing what she was doing. She had broken Brittany's trust, she had broken her heart for a reason she couldn't even pinpoint, and in that moment Santana realized… Brittany deserved so much better than she was giving her.

Slowly Santana turned and started to walk away. Between the heavy lead feeling in her legs, her severely decreased ability to breathe, and the anchor attached to her heart, she hardly made it back to her car at the end of the walkway without collapsing.

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><p>They say time is supposed to make the heart hurt less, but exactly how much time does it take before you start to feel the difference, even a little tiny bit. Brittany slammed the door behind her and threw her bag against the wall, frustrated tears fighting their way to her eyes. <em>Who the fuck are "they" anyway, <em>she thought to herself bitterly. Everything still hurt. Her heart still throbbed, her body still ached, she still moved a little bit slower than normal. She had spent the last two weeks upset and crying, ignoring Santana's phone calls, voice mails, and text messages. _"Brittany, please, I'm sorry." "Britt, can we please talk?" "Brittany, I love you so much, please just talk to me, please." "Brittany, I'm sorrier than you could ever know. I will regret hurting you until the day I die." _Text after text came through on her phone, but Brittany ignored each and every one.

Brittany would never have imagined that the one person who she thought was supposed to love her the most would betray her so deeply. When, after the second week, Santana stopped trying to contact her, Brittany's sorrow started to turn into resentment. _How could she do this to me, _she asked herself day after had started to go back to dance lessons, but as hard as she tried and as badly as she wanted to lose herself in the music, she just couldn't. Everything she did felt like slow motion. Her steps were off, she missed beats by almost a whole second, she was distracted. All of these things completely out of character for her when it came to her dancing. And all of this because of what Santana had done.

_She did this to me, _Brittany thought as she kicked her shoes off. _And two weeks later, she doesn't even care._

She stopped at the kitchen to make a cup of tea before heading to her bedroom for the night. In the dimly lit room, she barely noticed Quinn at the table, one foot on the chair on which she was sitting, her arms wrapped around her leg, hugging her knee to her chest. When Brittany turned around and saw that Quinn had been crying, she nearly dropped the mug she was holding.

"Brittany.."

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><p>Another two weeks passed and Brittany found herself standing the same doorway again, this time returning from her first day back at work since she found out. She made shit that night in tips. Her head was somewhere else all shift, and she made careless mistakes; forgetting to refill drinks, taking food to the wrong table, screwing up orders. None of her coworkers said a word to her; however the customers were not so kind. It didn't matter though, none of their snide comments even registered in her brain.<p>

Brittany sighed as she dropped her apron on the floor next to the pile of hers and Quinn's shoes. The night had completely drained her. She was exhausted, physically and mentally, and all she wanted to do was lay in her bed. As she turned to make her way to her bedroom, something caught her eye. It was a pile of mail that had accumulated over the last two weeks, dumped through the slot in the door and pushed against the wall each time someone came home and opened the door. _Bills, _she thought to herself as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before slowly releasing it through her nose. She quickly decided that she didn't have the capacity to deal with anything of that nature right then, and that she would let Quinn deal with it later.

She had just started up the steps when she heard keys scrape against the lock of their front door. For a second Brittany considered continuing on to her room, not stopping to talk to Quinn at all. But before she could reach the hallways upstairs, the door creaked open and Quinn was inside. Not wanting to be rude, Brittany stopped and turned around, her blue eyes meeting Quinn's hazel ones.

"Hey," Quinn greeted her softly as she stepped inside, closing the door with a light click. It was the first time they'd really spoken in over a week. Not because anything was wrong between _them, _but because they'd barely seen each other. Brittany had spent most of the time in her room crying, and though Quinn had tried to comfort her at first, she quickly realized that there was no such thing when it came to this kind of anguish. She quietly made Brittany aware that she would be right there if she needed her, but that she would give her space until that time came.

Four days after they got the news, Quinn had come into Brittany's room and sat on the bed next to her. She rubbed Brittany's back lightly and told her that she should get dressed and come, too. That this was her last chance to say goodbye, and she didn't want to see her regret passing it by later. For a good fifteen minutes, Brittany said nothing. She didn't want move for fear that the hollow feeling in her chest where she was sure her heart once lived would cave in and suffocate her. When Quinn's voice started to sound desperate though, Brittany couldn't stand it anymore.

"I can't," she murmured, half into her tear-soaked pillow. She twisted her neck slightly, enough that she could catch a glimpse of the other blonde haired girl sitting next to her. "I don't want that to be the last image I have of her. I'm scared it will burn into my mind and override all the good memories I have. I can't risk that, Quinn. They're all I have left."

Quinn had won that night, though. Sort of. She'd helped Brittany get up and pick out something acceptable to wear, but they only made it as far as the parking lot. "I need a few minutes. Please?" Brittany had told her, and Quinn respected her wish, leaving her to prepare herself alone in the car.

For the next half hour, Brittany watched people file into the small building. A few people she knew, mostly people she didn't. The entire glee club was there. A few teachers. Some Cheerios she recognized. And then she saw him.

Puck.

Brittany felt her stomach flip as the air left her lungs. Her vision went fuzzy like that it did when she stood up too fast and she closed her eyes and sucked in as much air as she could in an attempt to keep herself from passing out. When she opened them again, Puck was gone, out of her sight.

It was then that she knew that there was no way she could go in there. She already had a million reasons, but seeing Puck just gave her one more. On some level, Brittany blamed him for all of this. If he would have just stayed away from her, if he wouldn't have gone to her house that night, if he just.. didn't exist, then none of this would have happened. Her and Santana would still be together. They would probably be cuddling and watching a movie right now, Brittany thought to herself. It was Saturday. That's what they did on Saturday nights.

But instead, here she was. Sitting in Quinn's car outside of a funeral home.

The icing on the cake was the fact that it was Puck's uncle, a township maintenance worker, that had found her that morning. He'd been doing a routine weekly sweep when he spotted her car pulled off into the weeds between the river and the train tracks on some back road most people didn't use anymore since the new highway was finished a few years back. He had chuckled to himself as he pulled up and made his way over to tap on the window, expecting to intrude on a pair of young kids, cuddling in the backseat, basking in their adolescent love. What he wasn't prepared to find was Santana; her father's favorite gun from his prized collection in her lap, an empty prescription bottle with the label ripped off in the passenger seat, and a single gun-shot wound to her temple.

Then again, who could prepare for something like that?

Brittany glanced at the clock on the dashboard. She'd been sitting her for over a half hour. She looked up at the sky as the last bit of sunlight started to vanish. The clouds looked cold and gray and as miserable as she felt inside. Knowing Quinn would be back any minute and not wanting to deal with her trying to make her go in, she got out of the car and started walking towards home. It was a solid hour long walk, but she doesn't remember most of it. The sounds of the world were all blocked out by the ringing in her ears and the immense amount of self control it took to keep from breaking down and falling to her knees in the middle of the sidewalk. The fog of her own breath from every exhale made the already confusing streets seem even more distorted and everything around her was bleeding together, making it impossible to tell for sure where she was. But she just kept walking. Her instinct knew the way, even if her brain didn't right then, and her legs followed her guts instructions. She had no idea how long she'd been wandering, but somehow she finally managed to make it home. She trudged up the steps and fell into the solace of her own bed, clutching her pillow to her face as her body was wracking with sobs.

She awoke from a dreamless sleep a few hours later to another's weight making a shift in the bed. A pair of arms snaked around her from behind, pulling her close. It seemed like forever since she'd last felt the sensation of physical touch, and the warmth of it gave her goose bumps across her entire body. Quinn's lips were just a fraction of an inch from her ear when she whispered to Brittany, her voice heavy with mourning, "It's okay, Britt. I understand." And she did. A tension in Brittany's chest broke as relief from something she didn't even realize she was fearing swept over her.

Silent tears streamed down Brittany's face as Quinn placed a single knowing kiss to the base of her neck. Safe in Quinn's embrace, Brittany wept quietly until exhaustion carried her away back to unconsciousness.

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><p>"Hey," Brittany greeted Quinn back, the corner of her mouth lifting in a tired smile.<p>

"How was work?" Quinn asked her, glancing down at Brittany's apron she'd left laying on the floor.

Brittany sighed. "Fine, I guess. I don't know, I felt like shit all night, but I don't really have a choice but to get back into the swing of everyday life. Bills don't care about your personal life." She shrugged.

"Oh, yeah." Quinn agreed as her glance shifted from Brittany's apron to the pile of mail collecting against the wall behind the door, as if suddenly remembering its existence. "They sure don't, do they?"

Brittany pulled her pony tail out and ran her hand through her long hair. "I'm beat though, Quinn, I'm gonna go lay down. I'll talk to ya tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure," Quinn answered as she bent down to start collecting the envelopes scattered along the wall. "Night, Britt. I'll see you tomorrow."

Brittany climbed the remaining steps and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Just as she was getting ready to climb into bed, she heard a soft tap on her bedroom door.

"Yeah?" She turned towards the door, waiting for a reply.

The door opened slowly and Quinn peeked around the corner, asking if she could come in. Brittany nodded and Quinn entered, an envelope clutched to her chest.

"I, uh.. this was in the mail for you.." Quinn whispered cautiously, handing the letter over to Brittany.

The envelope had Brittany's name on it, and there was no return address in the top left corner, but it didn't need one for Brittany to know who it was from. The loops and swirls of the cursive writing were unmistakable. She knew them as well as she knew her own. Her hands started to shake when she noticed the postmark stamp. It was dated two weeks ago. The day Santana died.

Brittany lifted her eyes to meet Quinn's, who looked wholly unsure of what to do. Swallowing hard, she turned the envelope over in her hands and started to tear it open. She pulled out a single sheet of notebook paper and stared at it for a few moments before finding the strength to unfold it. Santana had left a hundred voicemails and sent her five times that many text messages, none of which Brittany had given her the satisfaction of returning. What else could Santana possibly have had to say that she had to send it on paper in the mail? Whatever Brittany had expected in that moment was certainly not what she was about to find.

She unfolded the paper to find a nearly blank page, save for a single, two-sentence line scribbled in Santana's handwriting across the middle.

_I told you I would regret hurting you until the day I died. I'm sorry that was the only promise I made to you that I could keep._

Had Quinn been standing even just a few inches farther away from Brittany, she wouldn't have caught her before she hit the floor.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading. Please review :)<strong>


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